Nightmare Resurrected
by BlueSpartan107
Summary: Four months before the campaign of Halo 4, Private Michaels is sent to the surface of Installation 06 to investigate the disappearance of a SPARTAN ground team. With the help of a SPARTAN-IV Michaels believes his new team should be able to handle the situation perfectly. But as it turns out, an ancient evil has reawakened on the ring, and its intent is to consume the trespassers...
1. Chapter 1

Nightmare Resurrected - The Before Hours

UNSC Frigate Spirit of Justice

Orbiting Installation 06; March 14th, 2557

Within the hanger of the UNSC Frigate Spirit of Justice, Private Henry Michaels made sure his rifle was fully loaded and ready to be used on the surface of Installation 06. Command had found the ring during their investigations, and now the Spirit of Justice was being departed to scout the ring and place down some science teams to study it. Michaels himself found the idea to be stupid, as the ring was a giant superweapon housing a parasite that wants to consume the galaxy, but being a soldier he couldn't talk back to his commanders about it. So he had to obey his superior's orders and go on the ring to make sure no one was going to blow anything up.

Of course, if he had a nuke he'd just do it himself.

Laughter from the other side of the hanger revealed his friends and teammates were talking about some of their adventures from during the Human-Covenant War. Michaels was never part of the war as he was fresh from boot camp, but his new squad had taken him under their wing once he had joined the crew three weeks ago. He had no idea what purpose he had on their team as each and every one of them had their own major role in the field.

Turning the safety on so he could set his rifle aside, Michaels walked towards his crew, who were sitting down with drinks in their hands. The first one in front of him was Corporal Patrick McMillan, an Irish medic who loved his drink as much as the next man. Next to him was Private First Class Tyrone Phillips, whose love of explosions was only parallel to his mother's cooking. Sergeant Kayla Sterling was the only woman in the group, but she was also an experienced sniper and didn't play nice with the guys. The only one not present at the moment was Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Marshall. It was likely he was filing another report.

McMillan noticed the young private approached, and he gave him the proper greeting. "Oh hey, Michaels! Come, have a seat! We got beer!"

Michaels sat down next to him, a bit nervous about what was going to happen. "Shouldn't we be saving the drinks for the return?"

"We're just having one beer to relax. It's a tradition we've done before every mission. You know, in case one of us dies during a battle." He held the bottle out to Michaels, who hesitantly took it from the medic.

"So, how many friends have you lost if you don't mind me asking."

"Enough to make this a tradition. Forty men have been a part of this squad over twenty years. Only the Gunnery Sergeant has served the longest in the squad to carry out the tradition, back when he was a Private himself. So every new recruit is taught this little tradition so that it may carry on."

Michaels looked at the bottle. "You know I'm only nineteen, right?"

"Oh." McMillan spoke sheepishly. "I forgot you were from the States. Not like us, who were allowed to drink around your age."

Sterling seemed to reach into the cooler for another bottle, revealing it to be a bottle of orange pop. "Here." She spoke with an inherent British accent. "Gunnery Sergeant doesn't like drinking much, either. Orange is his favorite, though."

Michaels traded bottles with her, taking the orange liquid and letting its contents pour down his throat. A low laugh from Phillips forced him to stop as he almost choked on the fizzy liquid.

"The new guy's nervous, isn't he?" Phillips laughed. "He's downing that bottle faster than McMillan at the Christmas Party."

"Or faster than your mom's baked chicken." Sterling retorted.

"Hey, my mama makes the best damn chicken in the whole galaxy. That's not opinion-"

"It's fact. I get it."

Michaels couldn't help but laugh at that.

Sterling turned back to face Michaels. "So, what made you decide to join the UNSC?"

"I thought I could try to help people." Michaels answered. "My friends were always talking about the war and how it fucked up a lot of things. So I thought that maybe I could do something to help the galaxy. After all that training, however, I don't think this current mission will benefit from my help."

"Ha!" McMillan laughed. "You're just still feeling like a green-horn!" He slapped Michaels on the back, making the Private jolt. "Everybody on the team benefits. That's why it's a team! I'm the guy that patches you up, Phillips blows shit up, Sterling's the one who spots hostiles a mile off, and Marshall's the leader. You, well you're just a green-horn right now so we don't know what you can do."

"Well, I'm actually good with the designated marksman rifle. I also am a communications expert."

"So you're the one we call when we need to fix the radio?"

"I guess."

"Well there you go! Now you're essential to the group."

The entire crew laughed up a storm until they heard the words of their commanding officer.

"Attention!" Marshall commanded, making the members of his team stand up from the crates they were sitting on and standing completely still facing him. "At ease, Maximus. As you all know, in about two hours we are going to be touching base and scouting the area. However, Captain Reynolds has just informed me that our original orders have been redirected."

"What does that mean, sir?" Michaels asked.

"Reynolds has informed me that we are not the first team to have set foot on the ring. Two months ago, a small squad of ODSTs and SPARTAN-IVs were deployed to ensure the safety of its activation index of this ring. Unfortunately, we lost contact with them a week ago. Our directive is to head to their original camp and discover what happened."

"Any idea what we're facing, sir?" Sterling asked.

Marshall looked around at his men. "We aren't assuming any hostile threats currently, as communications were always tough to come by on the planet. However, we do believe that if it is an attack, then it might be a small branch of Covenant renegades. Worse case scenario would be that the team somehow got infected by the Flood."

Everyone seemed to gasp.

"Of course, we have no substantial evidence of that possibility. Nevertheless, I will advise you keep your helmets on at all times in case the Flood virus is airborne. Also, be on the lookout for a flying orb while we're there. It is believed to be the caretaker of the installation. If something bad has happened to the team it can tell us what happened."

"Sir, what happens if this is a Flood breakout?" Phillips asked.

"We have protocols as to what we will do with a Flood incursion. Activation of the ring, however, will not be an option. We have a human colony that has started development several light years away, and evacuations procedures would not be enough to save them all. Protocols would, however, including leaving us behind if it means the Flood do not manage to escape the ring."

"Would they actually do that, sir?"

"Only as a last resort." Marshall cleared his throat. "One last thing: Reynolds has approved a request from a particular individual onboard. They will be joining us on the ground to recover data for the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"With all due respect, sir," McMillan began. "we don't need a scientist on the planet to collect rock samples for those spooks up at ONI."

"We're not bringing a scientist onto the planet." Marshall spoke. "We're bringing a Spartan."

Michaels seemed to tip his head to the side at the mentioning of that. A Spartan? He had heard tales of the Spartans from some of the veterans back at basic training. They were nearly invincible soldiers who sacrifice everything to protect humanity. Many Spartans died during the war, and there were many memorials dedicated to them for their sacrifice.

"Who is he?"

"He's a SPARTAN-IV that goes by the designation 107. Otherwise, I've seen his file. Before joining the program he was an ODST that participated in important battles near the end of the war, including Reach, New Mombasa, Voi, and the Ark. For everyone but Michaels, that means every major battle we partook in. He's a Lieutenant-Commander so he will be leading the operation."

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted."

"That's bullshit. No one should replace you as commanding officer. Not even a Spartan."

Just as McMillan finished saying that, Michaels saw someone walking out of the shadows. His armor was blue with stripes of gold here and there, and his golden visor caught the Private's attention as his helmet was revealed. Its design was familiar, and it was only them that it was a standard Recon helmet he saw from some of the campaigning ads back home.

"Your commanding officer has given me permission to run this op." The Spartan spoke. "Aside from that, Captain Reynolds had the final say. You will follow my commands or you can stay on this ship in the brig. Make your choice."

His commanding voice made the group shudder, but none of them made a move or another argument.

"If that's all settled, you must be geared up and ready in two hours. No excuses, just results. One last thing, if nobody does anything stupid and you all follow my orders, we all make it out of this alive. We've all lost friends over the years and I don't think anyone's ready to join them."

"Yes, sir." The crew agreed.

"Good. Dismissed." The Spartan walked away from the group, leaving them all alone with their thoughts. Once he was sure their new commanding officer was out of earshot, McMillan turned towards Marshall.

"What the hell were you thinking?! You can't just have this guy in fancy-ass power armor take command of this team!"

"Like he said, the captain approved it. And his service record is excellent. I looked it over myself."

Phillips looked at Marshall. "So what's his story?"

"He's a veteran of the last few major battles of the war. His parents were killed during the evacuation of New Alexandria, and his brother had suffered severe injuries during the fighting. One of the Lieutenant's most brutal battles was during the Battle of New Mombasa. He endured traumatic injuries from a needler and continued to fight long enough to get his squad, along with three other squads, out of the city before the Covenant glassed it. Once the battle reached Voi he was back on his feet and ready to fight. He was also invaluable during the Battle of the Ark, taking out a Covenant super carrier from within with his squad."

"That sounds exciting." Sterling spoke enthusiastically.

"Otherwise, he's a mystery. Plenty of black ink aligned his records, but both ONI and the UNSC claim they didn't put it there. Even his name has been blotted out, although Reynolds claims he knows his first name, and said something about him only telling those he trusts his name."

"So is he a ghost or something?" McMillan asked.

"Far from it. He just prefers to keep his life private, according to Reynolds. In the heat of battle, he's a soldier. But outside of it he's a fine man. Reynolds doesn't know, however, where one ends and the other begins."

Michaels seemed to hum at that phrase. "What happened to his brother? You mentioned his parents are dead and that his brother was injured, but you didn't specify how much."

"His brother lost an arm during the fighting. After two weeks spent in a sort of coma his brother went through a few weeks of physical training and fought alongside his brother during the final battles. They apparently don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, though. His brother is also a Spartan, but I have no knowledge of where he is right now."

"Not that that's important." McMillan mumbled.

Marshall looked at McMillan. "Watch your tone, McMillan. Finish your drinks and get ready. We're deploying in two hours."

"You'll have your beer, too, right?" Sterling asked, holding an unopened bottle between her fingers.

"On-the-go, I'm afraid." He took the bottle from her hands. "Reynolds still needs me for a quick briefing with our Spartan commander."

"Good luck, then." Sterling waved as Marshall walked away.

"Still friendly with Gunny, Archer?" Phillips joked, getting a well-deserved punch from her.

"Shut your mouth, Bronco." Sterling walked away from them, going for her gear in the locker room.

"Bronco?" Michaels asked.

"Nicknames. We all get them from somewhere. I got Bronco because of my ability to wrestle an Elite to the ground. We call her Archer because she's a sniper. We just call Marshall Gunny because of his rank."

McMillan sat down on his crate. "And they call me Lucky because of my luck of the Irish."

"So you're the only one without a nickname, Michaels; aside from the Spartan, of course."

"Man, who cares about the Spartan." McMillan argued.

"Hey, lighten up. That guy's been through as much shit as us and more. Show him a bit of respect."

"Respect? That man is just a ghost in a tin suit thinking he's so special compared to us. Respect is earned from interaction, not from fucking stories."

"Lucky, you are this close to getting a fist shoved into your mouth."

Michaels placed himself in between the two men, trying to break up the ensuing fight. "Hey, knock it off, guys. We don't need to fight."

McMillan seemed to sigh before he walked off without a single word.

"What's his problem?"

"He's not so easily impressed. He takes his arguments too far, let me tell you. There have been plenty of times where he and Gunny damn near tore each other apart. Hopefully some time in the field will do him some good."

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Well, I better go make sure Big Bertha's all cleaned up."

"Big Bertha?"

"Yeah, my rocket launcher. She's a piece of beauty. We'll talk again later, okay?" He closed the cooler and walked out of the hanger, going for his weapon of choice.

Now Michaels stood all alone, and decided to go look for the Spartan. Something inside him told him it would be interesting to learn more about him before they deployed to the ring. Hell, maybe he'd find out they both want the ring destroyed in the hopes that it's never used for galactic genocide. And even if they wouldn't have the same opinion, learning about him all the same would still be nice.

With that thought, he walked out of the hanger in search of the Spartan that would help out on the mission.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I've sort of decided to work on another story because my brother has been producing chapters for his Halo fan fiction, which is connected to both this and my Halo one shot To Be Human. Check that out for a bit more info on the Spartan, and look up 900: A Halo Fanfiction by Domehead900 to get more info on past events, as well as more events that happen to his brother during and a bit after this story. Expect random updates whenever I decide to write. I'm thinking this will be around five-six chapters long. Reviews are appreciated, but please KEEP IT CLEAN.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Friendly Conversation

UNSC Frigate Spirit of Justice

Orbiting Installation 06, One hour and forty minutes until mission

Michaels had walked across the ship for twenty minutes looking for the mysterious Spartan, unsuccessfully finding the armored blue figure around. He checked the mess hall, communication room, reactor core, and the bridge. He then decided to head to the war room to see if he could find him at all. After all, where else could a Spartan have gone to be alone or to accept orders?

As it turns out, he was in the war room, being briefed by Captain Reynolds. Gunny was also being briefed alongside him, and their chatting stopped when they heard him approach.

"Something on your mind, Michaels?" Gunny asked.

"Not really. I was just a bit curious about out Spartan guest. I didn't realize he was still getting a briefing."

The Spartan merely nodded. "I like to make sure I get every ounce of knowledge required. It's necessary for me, seeing as I don't possess an Artificial Intelligence in my head." He tapped a key on the holopad. "Since you're here, you might as well get acquainted with the plan."

"Sure." Michaels stepped up to the table.

Captain Reynolds cleared his throat. "This is Installation 06, one of the legendary Halo arrays scattered across the galaxy. Aside from Installation 03, this is the only installation we've set foot on since the signing of the treaty with the Covenant."

"Why are we even stepping on the rings if the treaty states we can't?" Michaels asked.

"The treaty only applies to the first ring the Master Chief found. And even if the treaty stated none of us could step on any of the rings, this is a special case. The monitor guarding the ring, Imminent Tragedy 701, invited our first survey teams onto the ring, claiming he was missing company. Apparently, one of our own crash landed on the ring before the end of the Human-Covenant War. Private Adam Presley and his ship the Armor of Denial crashed into the ring, leaving him the only survivor of the crash. 701 managed to help him get off planet to reestablish contact with the UNSC, and we only happened to find his ship adrift in space a month ago, along with the coordinates to the ring."

"Where's Presley now?"

"Under medical care. The cryo unit onboard put him in a sort of coma. We're hoping to revive him soon once we understand what went wrong."

The Spartan enhanced the image. "A small team of scientists, ODSTs, and a SPARTAN-IV team called King was dispatched onto this part of the ring. Their orders were to secure the control room, collect any knowledge on the ring, and ensure there was no Flood contamination. We lost communication with them very recently. That's where you come in, Michaels. Our very first objective is reaching the camp. Once we're there, you're going to try to fix the communications. Then we immediately scout the area for any clue of the team's location. If Flood contamination has commenced, we'll order for an Orbital strike to take out as much opposition as possible."

"Mac rounds could harm the ring, though, right?"

"I'm not certain. It is likely, but if not we should be safe enough sending the Flood some heavy ordinance. Activation of the Halo ring, however, is not an option."

Reynolds nodded. "Agreed. Firing the Halo array would wipe out all human and Covenant life in this sector. Doing that may cause a panic, and we cannot risk it. Do whatever you have to do if the worst comes to pass."

Gunny set his hands down on the table. "Any questions before we wrap this up, Private?"

"Yeah, what if the problem with the communications is something I can't fix?"

"Then we'll boost the radio signal on our comms for lift-off and debriefing. You'll be carrying some useful tools for that job for worst-case scenarios only."

"If this is a Flood outbreak on the ring, how would we be able to kill them?"

"It's simple." The Spartan spoke. "Shoot them in the head."

"I doubt it's that easy."

"Trust me, it is. However, if the SPARTAN team is infected, it's probably better if you leave them to me. They're likely going to be stronger than the average Flood."

"You almost sound like you believe the situation is Flood contamination."

"I always expect the worst. If better cases end up happening, then I'm content with that."

Michaels scratched his head at that. "I guess I have no more questions about the mission."

"Then prep up for the mission as soon as possible. We'll be landing on the ring soon." The Spartan then departed from the room and Michaels immediately followed, catching up to him. "So, I was wondering what your story was."

The Spartan stayed quiet for a moment. "I figured your superior officer would have told you the whole story already."

"Yeah, but I want to hear it from your actual perspective."

The Spartan stopped at a door and opened it, stepping inside. Instead of closing the door, however, he offered Michaels a chance to come inside. "You really wanna hear the same bullshit story of my life? Then step inside. Otherwise, I don't have time to entertain you."

Michaels stepped inside and looked around. It was a small cabin with only one bed, a desk, and a light. An assault rifle was perched on the desk, alongside a pistol and a few grenades.

"So, what specifically do you want me to tell you, first?"

"Well, is everything in the file of yours true? Did you really fight through some of the last battles in the war?"

"I did. The fall of my home planet, the attack on New Mombasa, Voi, and I even saw the Ark before the Master Chief likely destroyed it. There's only one probable inaccuracy in the file about when I got needler injuries, but otherwise the tale's all true. I started my military career at eighteen, following my father's footsteps. I managed to join the ODSTs due to some other battles before Reach that aren't as recognized, and reached Sergeant before the attack on Reach. I've led countless men and women in a few small victories that might have had an actual impact in the war, but I've lost a lot of friends as well."

"How many?"

"Enough to know getting too attached can be a burden if you're not ready to handle that responsibility. And the only time I never feel ready is when my brother is involved."

"You mentioned your brother was a Spartan as well?"

"Yes, although he could have passed as a scientist. He secretly created an A.I. he calls Larry. The two of them are quite a pair."

"How'd he manage that?"

"I cannot say. He's a mathematical savant, and can hack through any computer system you can throw at him. He's also trained in heavy weapons including the Spartan Laser, as well as marksman weapons like the BR-55 Battle Rifle. His favorite style, however, is up-close with either a shotgun or his energy sword."

"He has an energy sword?"

"Yes. He keeps it as a prize, and a reminder of the harshness of Reach. He was affected badly by the loss of the planet, and more-so by the loss of our parents."

"Shit."

"You can say that again."

Michaels thought carefully of his next question. "I was wondering, do you know anything about a rumor about a 'Spartan-buster' project? I've heard things about how the UNSC is developing Spartan armors designed to take down other Spartans."

The Spartan merely looked at him for a moment. Michaels couldn't tell what he was thinking due to his Recon helm blocking his face, but soon after the silence was broken. "I cannot confirm or deny the existence of any said project. However, if such a project did exist, I can say the UNSC are making it efficient, deadly, and able to capture Brute Chieftains alive just as much as it could capture a Spartan. And if such project did exist, there's still a few bugs and glitches that'll likely keep it out of commission for a while."

"Uh, okay." Michaels shrugged, assuming he was to play along with the beating by the bush the Spartan had just pulled. "Why is it you keep your personal life hidden?"

Again, he was met with silence, but it was longer than the last time before he spoke again. "Have you ever seen the face of a warrior before?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"The true face of a warrior is blank, nearly emotionless, much like this helmet I wear. It can convey emotion sometimes, yes, but otherwise it is always the same. The true face of a warrior is of stone. Blank. On the battlefield, that is what I am. I let logic and strategy drive me because emotion can hinder the success of the mission. That's not to say emotion is useless on the battlefield; in fact, my brother is a prime example that emotion can help making proper decisions. But decisions made out of anger can destroy a battle. That is why it is better for me to wear the face of a warrior in battle, but behind closed doors my emotions run deep. When I escaped Reach with my injured brother, I was locked in my room, crying until my eyes were bloodshot. The next day, I was myself again, wearing the face of a warrior. My brother doesn't understand why I do this, and why I feared for his safety when he joined my squad during the attack on New Mombasa. The reason my personal life is well-hidden is because I'm afraid that the wrong emotion will make me choose the wrong decision. I don't expect anyone to understand, but it is merely my way."

Michaels stayed quiet while he listened to the Spartan's tale. It was surprising and interesting to him. He suppressed his emotions because he wanted to be the best soldier out there, but behind closed doors he's just like the rest of the marines. "How exactly do you live like that?"

"It's easy to live like that when you accept that every new day can be your last alive. I thank God every night when I survive another day, but the next day I am prepared to die. And if I had to choose between dying for my men and having them die for me, I'd give my life for them every time. Unfortunately, that's never usually the case."

"Don't you ever think about living? Maybe starting a family?"

"Sometimes. But I have a long criteria of things I'd want in a wife. I've yet to meet the right girl, but there have been a few that did come close. None that I'm going to mention by name, however, for their privacy."

"I get that. No spreading gossip about your exes or anything."

"Exactly. Besides, I know at least one of them would kill me."

Michaels had to laugh at that phrase. "I guess I have one more question."

"Go ahead."

"What's it like being a Spartan?"

"It's like I'm continuing a legacy of soldiers willing to give their lives. Spartans have accomplished impossible feats that have helped turn the tide of the war, and to be asked to become one is a tremendous honor. Perhaps if you play your cards right one day you can be one, too." The Spartan stood up and went for his desk. "Now, we've got about fifty minutes until touchdown. I suggest you gear up, Private Michaels."

Michaels stood up and saluted the Spartan. "Yes, sir." He then headed out of the room and attempted to get back to the hanger to grab his gear. However, Lucky randomly popped up out of nowhere, startling the young Private.

"Chatting it up with the tin can?" He spoke harshly.

"We spoke, yes. He's actually not so bad once you get to know him."

"There's nothing to know about him. Spartans just follow orders and kill people. Nothing more."

"He's not just a Spartan. He's a man."

"He's a tin can that doesn't give two shits about anyone but his superiors and whatever orders they bark at him! Trust me, he'll kill us in order to get the job done."

Heavy footsteps behind Michaels indicated that the Spartan had appeared behind him and had likely heard what he said. "Corporal McMillan, you seem to misunderstand my purpose on this mission. My job is to collect data for ONI, yes, but my primary directive is always to protect those under my command and any who are in danger. So be careful of whom you make assumptions towards."

"Fuck off, tin can. I know what you Spartans are really like."

"And Captain Reynolds briefed me on why you act aggressive towards me. Your family was murdered on Arcadia by Covenant forces who glassed the planet in 2549. Spartans had been deployed but they never arrived to save your family, leaving you to fend for yourself when your entire unit was wiped out in a failed rescue mission. What you failed to realize is that the deployed SPARTAN-IIIs had all been slaughtered in a battle twenty kilometers away from your family's home. They never made it in time to save them."

Lucky's glare deepened before softening, showing off the Irishman's sorrow.

"So I want you to remember that I am not going to let you die just for the sake of grabbing something for ONI. The only reason any of you might die is if everything goes FUBAR down on the ground. But if we all stay together and you follow my orders, we'll all come back alive."

Lucky dropped out of his sorrowful look and snarled. "This doesn't change the fact that I find it bullshit that a tin can is leading us on the ground." Lucky turned around and walked away.

The Spartan shook his head. "The arrogance of fools can lead to their downfall."

"Did you really mean it when you said the Spartans on Arcadia were killed off?"

"I did, for it was the truth. Arcadia fell because the Spartans that were sent there were slaughtered. Corporal McMillan just didn't know. He'll come around or die trying. He's a good soldier, if not stubborn as a mule. Reminds me of my brother." The Spartan shook his head again for a moment before he walked past him. "Get your gear. The earlier you're ready, the better."

Michaels continued on to the hanger where he had left his ODST gear and DMR. Strapping it on as quickly as possible he was ready by the time Arrow came to check on him.

"You ready to go, Echo?"

"Echo?"

"Yeah, I figured you could use a nickname that goes with your skills. You're a communications major and a brilliant one at nineteen, so I thought Echo would be good."

Michaels thought about this for a moment before he chuckled. "All right. Echo sounds good."

"Good, because we're not going to change it." Archer smirked as she walked over to the pelican with a sniper rifle in her hands. Michaels simply laughed and joined her. Bronco and Lucky were already waiting at the pelican for the others to arrive. "Look out, boys. Echo's ready to go."

"Echo?" Bronco asked. "That's what you're calling him now?"

"Yep."

"Well, just don't start singing 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' on us. Nobody on this team's ever alone."

"Don't worry. He won't."

Michaels nodded. "I'm not good at singing, either, so don't worry."

Bronco and Lucky laughed. Lucky's mood had apparently improved since the last time he saw him, but Michaels had his doubts it would stay that way. They all chatted for about fifteen minutes until the Spartan and Gunny approached the Pelican. By then, everyone had been ready to go. The Pelican was loaded up and preparing to launch a few minutes later. Everyone was kind of silent onboard as the Spartan readied the vehicle.

The flight down was even quieter, save for the noises the Pelican itself made. Lucky was seated across from Michaels, while Archer and Gunny sat beside him. None of them were talking, and their helmets didn't reveal many details. Gunny kept his shotgun close, loading in shell after shell. Archer was messing with her scope while Gunny kept looking at the cockpit. Bronco seemed the least interested in anything onboard. Otherwise, Michaels was the only one that seemed nervous about what was to come.

The minutes, however, seemed to just disappear as they landed on the Halo ring.

"The pelican stays here in case of evac." The Spartan spoke. "We all know what to do, so keep your eyes peeled, your ears sharp, and your minds clear. Leave nothing to chance."

"We don't need the lecture, Spartan." Lucky snapped as he exited the pelican. This garnered no emotion from the Spartan whatsoever, which was expected. The rest of the team stepped out one at a time onto the ring. The surrounding area looked strange. The entire ring was meant to be gray throughout many of the areas, but there was some green in this area. In fact, there was a lot of green. Grass and trees stood out everywhere, and that aroused suspicion from the group.

"The reports said there was little to no plant life on this ring." Gunny spoke. "But here - it looks like we landed in a goddamn forest."

"Irrelevant." The Spartan spoke. "The camp is about two clicks from here. Let's move so we can assess the situation."

Michaels continued looking around as everyone else started following the Spartan along. Only Bronco remained alongside him for a moment longer.

"Something wrong, Echo?"

"I'm not sure." He admitted. "This Halo array just gives me the creeps. I mean it does house the most dangerous parasite the galaxy has ever faced."

"Which should still be secured by the caretakers of this ancient relic. Don't worry. You'll see that everything is all right."

"Maybe, but to take something from the Spartan's playbook, it's probably best to expect the worst."

"That's just paranoia talking. Now come on. That radio tower isn't going to fix itself." Bronco then left, leaving Michaels with his thoughts for a bit longer. He continued to scan the trees a moment longer, unsure as to what he was looking for, but just a bit sure that there was something to these woods that felt... Unnatural. Whatever it was, however, was something that could be focused on later. He needed to catch up to the group and standing alone in the forest wasn't going to help matters. So he looked at his radar on the HUD, but something was amiss. The radar showed multiple hostiles, which shouldn't be real because there was no one in front of him. Maybe it was a threat from underground, but radars don't really pick those up too often. Michaels looked around for any signs of hostile activity, but nothing showed up.

_"Echo, you get lost?" _Gunny spoke on the radio. _"Get your head out of the clouds and catch up to us."_

Michaels took one last look around before breaking into a sprint away from the area, unaware of the disfigured being that fell out from camouflage moments later, snarling an inhuman sound from its deformed face.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, that's another chapter up. I took a bit longer deciding on throwing in the cliffhanger there, so that's one of the reasons it took a bit longer to throw out. Anyways, though, I hope this chapter gave you more insight into my Spartan's personality and character. The next chapter is going to focus more on the other characters while they try to solve the mystery of what happened on the ring. Reviews are welcome, and remember KEEP IT CLEAN. ;-)


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